


Endearing

by Yuval25



Series: The Story Of Us [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Love, M/M, Malfoy, Malfoy's Chin, Malfoy's Lips, Pining, Post-War, endearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5858224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuval25/pseuds/Yuval25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry would never tell anyone, but he actually found the way Malfoy would sneer down at someone as if they were lesser beings quite endearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endearing

**Author's Note:**

> Another one in the series, my dear readers :)

Harry would never tell anyone, but he actually found the way Malfoy would sneer down at someone as if they were lesser beings quite endearing. It was a defense reflex, Harry knew. Keep everyone out. Let them think he was in control when in truth he just wanted to hide the fact that he was human and vulnerable and self-conscious. Living with people who figuratively wore masks their entire lives had made him grow into that habit as well, a superior smirk plastered on from an early age so no one could see what he was really feeling.

So really, the sneer only made him that much more human to Harry. Once he'd figured it out, it changed everything, because every time he said something to Malfoy that was perhaps a bit under the belt, like, say, accuse him of having a Death Eater for a father, or being a Death Eater _himself_ , Malfoy would sneer at him and Harry knew it's actually hit target.

At some point, it became rather sad to see it all the time, so Harry just stopped. He stopped throwing nasty words at the Slytherin and stopped answering when he was at the receiving end. He didn't say a word to Ron and Hermione, of course. They wouldn't understand, so he waved them off every time they looked at him funny for ignoring Malfoy's attempts at riling him up. Hermione actually thought it was a good thing, she told him one evening – showed that Harry had matured. He didn't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't that.

Or that he had started noticing things about Malfoy that he really, really shouldn't. Like his hair, and his eyes, and his chin. Harry really had a thing about his chin. And his lips. God, his lips. Harry has never seen that shade of pink before, but he instantly knew it was his favorite color.

"Red or gold, Harry?" Ron's voice bubbled from underneath the surface of his thoughts, dim and blurry.

"Huh?" Harry blinked away the remnants of Malfoy's face from his mind – lips leaving last like a goddamn echo of what Harry wants most – and tried to focus on his best friend who was sitting next to him on the couch in the empty Common Room, holding up two ribbons.

"Which one for Hermione's present? I don't want to mess it up again. She really didn't like that pink one," Ron said, wide-eyed and oblivious to the fact that Lavender used to wear a pink ribbon that tied her hair in a sloppy pony-tail.

Harry crushed down and stomped on the nagging thought that 'Pink is actually a very good color. Malfoy's lips are pink' and pointed randomly at one of the ribbons in Ron's hands.

"That one," he said.

Ron's face brightened up. "Red, right? Exactly my thoughts."

The redhead set about trying – emphasize on _trying_ – to tie the piece of synthetic strap around a flowery-patterned, box-shaped wrapping paper Harry assumed was his gift.

"What did you get?" Harry asked out of curiosity. Harry had bought a pair of earrings he thought she'd like – well, Ginny thought she'd like – and had it tucked in the back of his trunk since summer vacation to give it to her on her birthday.

"Necklace. Gold-filled or something. I don't know. Ginny picked it," Ron mumbled, eyes on the task.

Harry was actually not the least bit surprised. Only a girl could ever hope to know what another girl wants. Ron was probably still trying to figure out what went wrong last time he chose a girl's present. Hannah, Neville's girlfriend since July, had looked so stricken when she saw the ring Ron got her for her birthday. It was a simple ring, nothing fancy, but it was about two times wider than her thumb and girls never like people insinuating they were fat or something. And she got all that from a _ring_.

Harry likes to think that maybe the reason he and Ginny didn't work out over what she said was him 'looking at other men like he should be looking at _her_ ', was because girls were so fucked up and complicated. Maybe his body was doing him a favor, choosing the male kind over female.

Not that Malfoy wasn't complicated. The bloke was all sorts of messed up, but it was understandable with the family he had grown up in.

One of the problems with being a famous orphan teenager – and there were many, naturally – was that he was always in the spotlight, always under magnifying glass with reporters everywhere and cameras tracking his every move, like 'Mr. Potter, how does it feel to know you've managed to single-handedly vanquish the most powerful criminal of our time?' – the fact that they believed he did it single-handedly was also one of the big problems – or 'Mr. Potter, any love interest in your near future? What shall I tell the ladies?' or even worse, 'Mr. Potter, how is your sex life?' Harry's favorite, though, was when they asked him how he brushes his teeth – left side of the mouth first, or right side first? He wondered where the line is drawn, because it wasn't that improbable that they'll ask him how he wipes his arse next.

No, Malfoy wouldn't like that exposure. He preferred to keep to himself nowadays. Harry would notice his hunched shoulders, bent head and think, 'Where's that infuriating smirk?' and his heart would give a painful pang in his chest.

If Slytherin had a bad reputation before, now it was like all hell broke loose. It hasn't reached physical violence yet, if one ignored the stink bombs a few fifth years threw into a compartment full of Slytherins on the Hogwarts Express, but Harry figured it wasn't long before some girl – say, Pansy – found her head shaved clean and shiny.

Malfoy, usually the one to jump at an opportunity to defend his family's honor – another thing that tore Harry between a strange feeling of respect and the more prominent one of irritation – seemed to disappear whenever someone started spitting hatred-filled words in the direction of the thinning Slytherin table. Literally. He would sneak right out of the ruckus and show up later in class or flying over the Quidditch field – Harry knew that because, even at one hundred miles per hour and covered in wind-blocking robes and ridiculous goggles, Malfoy's silvery blond hair was impossible not to recognize as he zoomed past the Gryffindor tower in a blur of black and green.

Like now.

" _What_ was _that_?" Ron asked, startled.

They had relocated to their dorm room, gossiping in front of the window.

Harry shrugged, relaxing back from his tense, alert position he had fell into out of habit in response to being caught by surprise. War had made him jumpy, untrusting and he would even go as far as paranoid sometimes, when he was alone and every shadow became a Death Eater coming to kill him.

"Malfoy, probably," he settled on saying to Ron, who still looked hesitant, unsure if it was safe once again.

Months on the run had fucked them up good and thorough, ingraining a sense of constant vigilance into their very being.

"How did you– Never mind, I don't want to know," Ron shook his head, flaming locks falling into his eyes.

Harry thought of lush, pink lips and pointy chin, and shrugged again, because yes, he probably didn't.


End file.
